Page 98 of Resisting the Fall

“Absolutely.”

The heightened volume of voices shifted our attention to an opening door. Maven stood on the threshold, her eyes catching mine before the waiting crowd of friends and well-wishers pushed in on her to give their congratulations. Sharon and I waited contentedly, watching Maven smile and accept all the love and praise she deserved before finally making her way to us.

“Hey!” She gave her mom a big hug, accepting her compliments before stepping next to me and wrapping an arm around my waist.

I set my hand on her back and leaned down, placing a kiss on the side of her head and lingering my lips next to her ear. “I’m not sure what had me more mesmerized: your playing or you in that dress.”

She smiled up at me, her whole face still aglow. There was nothing that Maven loved more than performing. And there was nothing I loved more than seeing her this happy.

“Ms. Walker?” A lean, middle-aged man with dark hair and a thick French accent stepped up to our group and reached out a hand to Maven. “I’m Jean-Paul Bénard.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “Hello.”

“First, I wanted to congratulate you not only on winning the concerto competition but also on an exceptional performance this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“Second, I wanted to introduce myself.” He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a black business card with stark white and gold lettering. “I’m a fixer—similar to what you’d call a music manager here in the States. I find opportunities, temporary gigs, and job placements for freelance musicians. Many of which are international. So, if that sounds like it might interest you, I’d love to chat more.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you.” Maven looked at his card before offering it back to him. “But my husband and I are moving back to our hometown once I graduate. I plan to teach.”

“Teach?” Jean-Paul was finding it difficult to hide his disbelief, and I felt like sending him on his way. “At a university?”

“No. Most likely at a high school.” Maven’s gaze slid to me, and Jean-Paul’s followed. “We haven’t made it that far in the planning process yet.”

The man reached out his hand toward me. “I suppose you are the husband?”

I gave his hand a firm shake and nodded. “Bennett Walker.”

“I’ve worked with a lot of remarkable musicians, and your wife has a rare talent.” His gaze flicked to her before returning to me. “I know it’s not my place to say as much, but she’s not meant for the classroom. She’s meant for the stage.”

My jaw tightened. He didn’t even know Maven. He didn’t know us. Who was he to say what she was meant for?

Maven’s hand came to my arm, and she gave me a soft smile before turning back toward the man. “Again, Jean-Paul, I appreciate your offer, I really do.” She extended his card back toward him. “But I won’t need this.”

Jean-Paul drew in a slow breath, then nodded. “Please keep it in case you know of someone who might.”

Maven gave a small nod. “It was nice meeting you.”

“The pleasure was mine.” Jean-Paul nodded his head in her direction before offering a parting nod to both Sharon and me.

“Well,” Maven said, the excitement in her expression dimmed slightly. “Should we go get something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Absolutely,” Sharon said a bit too brightly. “And it’s my treat.”

Maven intertwined her fingers with mine and looked over at me, searching my expression. “What do you feel like eating?”

“Whatever you want. It’s your night.”

“Greek sounds amazing! What about The White Olive?”

I forced out a smile and nodded.

“Lead the way.” Sharon linked her arm through Maven’s, and the three of us started forward.

As we made our way out of the Juilliard lobby, Jean-Paul conversed with a small group. His gaze met mine, and I looked away. If only I could so easily disregard his words still running through my mind: Maven was meant for the stage.

Maven